


Runoff

by haleyesido (ssleif)



Series: Witcher Omorashi Stuff [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, since i'm all about dat desperation, specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssleif/pseuds/haleyesido
Summary: Witcher Bodies are very efficient. An efficient way for a body to offload toxic things it has imbibed is to, uh, kick those kidneys into overdrive.Geralt is interrupted and delayed a bit longer than comfortable after a hunt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Omorashi Stuff [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737613
Comments: 12
Kudos: 226





	Runoff

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a rough start, but bear with me boys.
> 
> beta? for this bitty piece of smut? hah.
> 
> (There is peeing for pleasure here folks. dont like dont read)

Geralt is coming back from a hunt, hunt didn’t take a very long time, but it’d been dark as pitch, and there had been eight of the bastards in there, and so he’d taken a fair number of potions. His body was now working overtime to try to purge the toxins from his system. He could feel himself dehydrate as his kidneys began to flush the toxicity from his bloodstream. He grabbed a flask from Roach’s saddled bags, (she’d stayed just around a tree, still near to the mouth of the caves, exactly where he’d left her) took a hit, and was just considering stepping further in to the woods to relive himself preemptively, when the goddamn farmer and his wife, and half the village it looked like, popped up, clearly also having been just barely out of harm’s way for the fight.

They started as a group back towards civilization, and they kept plying him with thanks, and water, offering him wine, inviting him back for a thank you, and he was a bit overwhelmed. Usually, people stayed away further. Usually, they were even more scared AFTER he killed their monster for them, and wanted little to do with him beyond paying. Sometimes even going to inquire after his payment, oft with a trophy/proof of death, was enough to make the poor bastards piss themselves. And speaking of pissing...

Melitele. He was getting uncomfortable. Had the town been this far away when he went into the cave? He squirmed a little, trying to ease the pressure and tension down low in his belly. He also cursed Jaskier a little bit, and the way the songs had cleaned up his image, and tried to find the conversational opening to excuse himself. Very soon. One step, another, he could feel the way each impact shuddered through his weary body and tight bladder. He briefly considered mounting Roach and completing the rest of the journey a horseback, but no, even if that wouldn't have been unconscionably rude, he doubted the greater disturbance of Roach's gallop _or_ the extra pressure from bending at the waist would do him any favors.

Finally, just about the time Geralt was truly getting desperate, ready to forgo any sense of politeness, control, or decorum... Gods be praised, there was the little farm.

And Jaskier was there too, suddenly, slipping through the gaggle with grace, planting himself at Geralt’s side, making the excuses Geralt didn’t know how to make, getting them sent to the barn (in who’s hayloft they’d been given permission to stay, during the hunt).

Geralt nearly wept internally, both in gratitude for being out of the press of folk, and also in panic. He suddenly felt like he was gonna burst, curse his efficient Witcher physiology right along with the rest of it, but, shit, the farmer’s young daughter was still watching them, and Jaskier had his elbow now, tugging him along.

They stepped around the door, and Geralt was frantically running through options, trying to decide if pissing in the hay was acceptable, or if he had the fortitude (and would have the luck not to run into anyone) if he sprinted straight across the floor and out the door at the other end, into the woods and blessed relief. A cramp hit him, and he winced, knowing he was out of time, feeling, damnit, shit, feeling himself leak, just a little.

Fuck.

Jaskier, demonstrating that oft-surprising strength, spun him around, annoyance on his face.

“Come on Geralt. Confess. I know you’re injured, or something, and hiding it.”

Geralt tried to edge around him with jostling himself too badly, eying, fuck, anything would do, that bucket over against the wall, there was no way he was making it out of the barn, or up to the hay loft where a pot had been conveniently left by their bedrolls. In a stall? It was uncouth, but surely the horses wouldn’t mind.

Jaskier grabbed him again, tugged, held on, and Geralt shook him off, and doubled over, finally, needing to hold himself, if he was gonna avoid…

“Oh. Oh. My, my apologies. I didn’t realize… “

Geralt cussed under his breath, petrified, hoping the bard would just fuck off and leave him to the inevitable soiling of his leathers, since there was, at this point, no way the laces on the trousers were coming undone in time, even if he could spare the hand to attempt them, which he couldn’t.

And then suddenly, the bucket was there. Geralt gave in to the whine, low and unhappy, unable to keep back both it and the, fuck, rivers of urine inside. But the sight of the bucket had twisted the tap, and he’d begun to piss, no avoiding it now.

He scrambled at the fastening of his trousers, freeing his already spurting cock, and shakily aiming at the bucket Jaskier held.

Absolute bliss.

Whoever started the rumor that Witchers were incapable of feeling had clearly never experienced the relief of offloading the by-product of three potions in too short a time. Geralt challenged anyone to appear unmoved in the face of such an, ah, forceful experience.

Eventually, around the time his stream started to slow, finally, his brain came back to him enough to realize that he could, really ought, to be holding the damn bucket himself. He looked up from his still-pissing dick to Jaskier, ready to apologize, already preparing to fight a blush… and saw Jaskier, absolutely captivated.

He cleared his throat to get the bard’s attention, and the younger man startled, bucket wavering a little, but not so much as to spill. Jask looked back at him, shamefacedly, and suddenly, over the ammonia reek of his own urine, he could smell something else.

Arousal.

He peeked back down, and, sure enough, Jaskier was clearly completely hard beneath the shiny fabric of his trousers.

The bard shifted awkwardly, cleared his own throat.

“Ah. Sorry for um. You’d probably prefer, um…”

And thank the gods, Geralt seemed to finally be finished, he relished the last few drops, shook himself a little, took the bucket from the bard, and set it on the floor, out of the way.

He advanced on Jaskier, not bothering to tuck himself away yet, and the bard retreated, looking away guiltily.

“Is it the pissing, or just my cock that has you all worked up, little lark?”

Jaskier’s face flamed, but as Geralt advanced, his own cock was beginning to stand to attention, and Jaskier clearly noticed that, too. And maybe it gave him courage, because he swallowed, adjusted himself in his breeches, and met Geralt’s eyes.

“Um. Both? That is, you’ve always been, well, a figure. But I had never thought to see you so…”

Geralt smirked, finding the humor in it, now the desperation was momentarily passed.

“Desperate for a piss?”

“… rather. Um. Undone. It was…” and Jaskier’s eyes cleared a little from their lust-fog. “Why? May I ask? You weren’t at it that long, and, uh, I know you excuse yourself just before…”

“Have you been keeping tabs, little bird?”

Jaskier finally hit a wall, and couldn’t back up any further, was forced to hold his ground ans Geralt pressed him in.

“It’s my, I notice things…”

Geralt grinned in quite a feral way. 

“I’ve got something I’d like you to notice, now.”

And Jaskier whimpered in anticipation.

**Author's Note:**

> (After, Jask will be quite pleased to learn how the potions sometimes work, unavoidable as post-hunt sex is often interrupted by geralt having to pull out, or off, desperately, and piss in the middle, before going back to ravishing Jaskier.)
> 
> (There may end up being others in this series, or other chapters, but I make 0 promises, this just ambushed me out of nowhere.)


End file.
